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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443610">Protector</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooattachedtofiction/pseuds/tooattachedtofiction'>tooattachedtofiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, F/M, attempted assault tw, attempted rape is mentioned, but nothing graphic, everyone is happy again, kind of, mentions of vomit, non-canon compliant, slight Emma/Paul, the meteor doesn't exist, vomit tw, what if Zoey and Emma became friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooattachedtofiction/pseuds/tooattachedtofiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, Zoey asks Emma to keep her safe. Emma isn't sure why, but for the first time, Zoey seems scared of what could happen outside of Beanies' walls. </p><p>Attempted assault and vomit mentioned, but not graphic. </p><p>Inspired by Girl Code, written by @Ourfandomcrazyuniverse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emma Perkins &amp; Zoey, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Protector</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wasn't sure how to end this so the ending is abrupt but basically this is about Emma and Zoey! I always wanted to know more about their relationship and wondered what would happen if they were close. It's essentially a character study in order to improve on writing less dialogue, but I'm still happy with it and I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Emma looked up at the clock, scowling at the time. She’d been scheduled to close with Zoey, and closing was two hours from now. The thought of spending that much time alone with her “manager” (who was ten years younger than Emma) mader her want to barf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, Zoey wasn’t bad. If anything, she reminded Emma of a young Jane: bright, sociable, loyal. She did what she was asked without any questions, no fighting back, and was always kind enough to recognize that Emma never wanted to talk to her. Sure, the two of them had their squabbles, but they both understood things could be way worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shit, Zoey even overshadowed Emma at work. She was always fucking perfect, the way Jane had been. And when one person is so brilliant at everything, the universe calls for the other to be an absolute fuck up. Not that Emma would ever admit that Zoey was brilliant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In some moments, Zoey kind of reminded Emma of her younger self. They both had a love for theater, a high amount of sass and a low tolerance for BS. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In those moments, Emma wanted to toss her cookies into the food waste bin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Emma? Are you done with the dishes?” Speak of the devil. Zoey poked her head in through the doorway of the back kitchen. “I just texted Nora and she said we could close early, since no one’s here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma looked tiredly at the pile of unwashed cups and pastry plates. “I’m not done.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here, I’ll dry them and put them away.” Zoey said, pulling out her phone and texting Nora back. “Give me a minute to lock the door and turn off the house lights.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma sighed, moving onto the next dish. She’d tried changing jobs, but she never seemed to put in the effort to get an interview. Something was tying her to Beanies, but she didn’t understand what. It definitely wasn’t the hours or her coworkers, and the pay was average at best. The singing had to be the worst - Emma was pretty sure by now that it drove more customers away than it brought them in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How was Beanies still standing, anyways? She was sure that the owner of this place was just wasting time and money, considering Starbucks was always bustling with people. The team of employees currently only added up to five, and Nora was definitely working overtime when theater season came around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoey reappeared in the back kitchen, quietly joining Emma. Tonight she was humming another show choir tune. Maybe it was Hamilton again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every once in a while Zoey looked out into the main area, a frown on her face. By the third time, the humming was gone, and she had slowed her work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Emma?” Zoey asked, so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it the first time. “Emma?” She tried again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, Zoey, just because we’re on the same shift and working together doesn’t mean you need to make small talk-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t about that.” Zoey’s frown deepened. Emma paused, looking up. She’d never seen Zoey so… well, unhappy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, are you okay?” Emma may be crabby, but she knew where to draw the line. Something about Zoey was off. She set down another dirty mug into the sink with warm water and soap and looked at the younger girl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoey wouldn’t look at her, scrubbing a plate dry as she spoke. “Can you walk me to the bus stop and wait for me to get on after we close?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, am I some valet service now?” The words flew out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop them. She watched Zoey fake a smile and her stomach dropped. God, something was wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a guy out there.” Her voice was soft. “He’s been standing outside since I got here, and he.. He’s just there, waiting for me to leave. I’m scared that the minute I’m left alone he could do something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know him?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s come inside before, but you know, you hear stories all the time about those girls who…” Zoey took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “It just happens to them without any reason.” She looked up, blinking rapidly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave the dishes here, we can finish them tomorrow.” Emma said, taking the plate out of her coworker’s hands. “If you want, you could stay with me for the night. My apartment’s shit, but it’s better than having that guy follow you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, it’s okay-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Emma shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone in a situation like this. We both know how dangerous things can get in downtown Hatchetfield.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Emma looked at Zoey again. Despite what she had been thinking only half an hour before, Zoey didn’t intimidate her anymore. Emma watched as Zoey’s shoulders shook slightly and decided that it was time to be the better person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, let’s go home. I have pepper spray if we need it, and I can sneak photos of the guy if we need to file a report with the HTPD.” Emma said, reaching up to tug Zoey’s visor off her head. “I’ll get your shit while you change.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma retreated to the little hallway between the back door and the kitchen, unlocking her locker and taking her things. She threw her dirty apron into the bin before going to get Zoey’s bag and returning to her coworker. Zoey was in the same place Emma had left her in, blinking rapidly. Emma assumed she was trying to avoid ruining her makeup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d never seen Zoey like this, not even on a bad day. Most days she’d fake it until she went to the back. Emma didn’t even think Zoey was capable of crying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Okay, <em>maybe</em> a part of Emma wished sometimes that Zoey was miserable too.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zo?” Emma asked. “Ready to go?” She lifted Zoey’s bag. Zoey took off her apron hastily before moving her hair to hide her face and slumping her shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma flicked off the lights on their way out, locking the door quickly after Zoey had stepped out in the cold night air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t stay with your theater friends?” Emma asked, leading the way to the car. She refused to go more than a foot away from the younger girl, always keeping Zoey in her peripheral vision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drama is worse when you’re friends with actors.” Zoey sighed. Emma nodded, conspicuously taking photos of the guy as they walked past. “We need a little while to recharge before we spend the next fifteen weeks together again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense.” Emma hummed, pointing when she saw her car. “Over here, the grey civic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, Emma was driving down yet another back street. She wanted to make sure that the guy wasn’t tailing them, occasionally taking random lefts and rights. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Zoey said, her voice quiet amongst the sound of the car tires running over the pavement. “There was this… </span>
  <em>
    <span>guy</span>
  </em>
  <span> my first year of college who tried… It was at a party, and he was drunk, and my friends pulled me away, but… What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve being so <em>scared</em> of any guy who walks into Beanies?” Her voice quivered just enough for Emma to shoot a concerned look at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> deserves to live like that.” She tried to hide the anger in her voice. Sure, Zoey was a handful, but that sort of thing could fuck a person up. Emma wondered how anyone who did that could live with themselves. “Hey, once we get to my apartment we can watch Disney movies or musicals and eat popcorn and make hot chocolate. It’ll be like a sleepover.” She wasn't sure what spurred that comment, but she did have a small collection of those movies for when Jane's kids came over.<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride was quiet, apart from Zoey’s quiet sniffles and Emma’s cussing when they drove up to the parking garage entrance. “Almost there.” Emma promised, pulling into the first legal spot and parking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoey followed her without another word, up to Emma’s apartment. The apartment wasn’t much - a studio surrounded by windows and divided rooms from partitions - but still, Emma clicked on the lights one by one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can sit on the couch, I’ll get everything.” Emma waved in the general direction of a beat up sofa. “I know it’s not impressive or anything, but make yourself at home.” She slipped into the kitchen, putting popcorn bags in the microwave and water in the pot to boil. Leaving the kitchen, she headed to her rest area to hunt for clothes that could be Zoey’s size. She came up with a pair of long sweats (Jane’s, no doubt) and a baggy graphic t-shirt for Star Wars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bathroom’s over there.” Emma tossed the clothes in Zoey’s direction. “Pick a movie on Netflix?” She didn’t wait for an answer; instead, she went back into the kitchen to check on the popcorn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When she got back, Zoey had clearly made herself comfortable, curling up on the couch and staring at the screen. “Is Mamma Mia okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure.” Emma could vaguely remember Dancing Queen from Jane's 17th birthday, but she hadn't watched the movie in a while. She always thought it was a little too cheesy. But this was Zoey's night, and if she wanted to watch Mamma Mia, then fuck it. They'd watch Mamma Mia.<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The first one or the sequel?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you want.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoey settled on the first movie, and after they finished watching the sequel, Emma noticed she was starting to drift off. “Hey, why don’t we call it a night?” When Zoey didn’t respond, Emma grabbed a blanket, draping it over Zoey’s torso and legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good night, Zo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that night, Zoey started talking to Emma more often. Sometimes they’d talk about the guy from CCRP Technical, who always asked for one black coffee. The funny thing was that Starbucks was actually closer to the office by a block. Sometimes they speculated why he went out of his way for their shitty product. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he doesn’t think it’s shitty.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he doesn’t taste the spit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t even add cream or sugar, of <em>course</em> he tastes the spit!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Nora added the new musical part of the job, Zoey had listened to Emma gripe about it for the entire six hour shift. Somehow by the next day, the singing and dancing was replaced by a small machine that sang out a jingle whenever someone tipped. Emma still complained, but Zoey knew she was grateful to not have her shift full of performances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the mystery man kept coming in, and Emma and Zoey kept talking. Until finally, one day, when he was at the counter - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One black coffee.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keeping it simple? No caramel frappe?” Emma asked with a smirk. She knew his orders in and out, what time he'd come in and the days he brought his friends.<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just need something to get through this afternoon.” The mystery man shook his head. “I figured I’d walk here and get something to drink while I was at it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling a strike of confidence, Emma leaned on the counter, looking up at the man. His shoulders were rounded, his face long with bright blue eyes. “I see you in here all the time. What’s your name?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Paul Matthews. I work at CCRP Technical, down that way.” God, Emma was lucky the store was slow at this hour. Zoey pretended to be very interested in polishing the espresso machine, a smile tugging at her lips. Emma pointed to her name tag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Emma Perkins.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a pause, Emma spoke again. “You know that Starbucks is better and closer, right?” Emma raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather give my money to small businesses.” Paul shrugged. “And anyway, you know..” He trailed off, looking at her for a second too long before clearing his throat. “Some things are worth it.” He looked at her again and then looked at the travel cup of coffee in his hands. “Like,” he took a sip, “This coffee!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma squinted her eyes at him, knowing full well that the coffee wasn’t the reason he came. Nobody could love their coffee, at least, not enough to go out of their way to get it. Still, it was cute to watch this guy squirm under her questioning gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good.” He defended, and Emma scoffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s the bare minimum.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bell that hung over the front door rang, and a few more customers started to approach the counter. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” She said, straightening up and giving him a small smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. See you later, Emma.” God, his awkward smile was adorable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watched him walk out, smirking as he paused outside. He looked like he was saying something, but she couldn’t read his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the shop was slow again, Zoey paused her work, hip-checking Emma. “I think he was picking up what you were putting down.” She winked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Emma snickered. “It’s not too far. Did you see his face when I asked him why he doesn’t just go to Starbucks?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He comes here for you. I swear he’s disappointed when I’m the one at the register.” Zoey laughed. “You should ask him out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma hummed again. “Isn’t that considered unprofessional?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything we do is unprofessional.” Zoey pointed out with a laugh. “I’ll tell Nora to stay home tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Emma finally did make a move, Zoey made her pinky-promise to tell her everything the morning after. And when theater season rolled around, Emma made sure to make it to Zoey’s opening night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Zoey wasn’t so bad after all. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
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